


Front Porch Makeout Sessions

by itsmmmills



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), beth greene - Fandom, bethyl - Fandom, daryl dixon - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8499529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmmmills/pseuds/itsmmmills
Summary: Beth and Daryl get a little cozy on the front porch.





	

I found libraries full of classics in one of the many studies in one of the many, many palaces inside the walls of Alexandria. Moby Dick, The Great Gatsby, and Anna Karenina were just some that lined the walls in the library off Maggie and Glenn’s master bedroom.  
Daryl discovered me kicked back, legs dangling and kicking, on the porch during a lazy afternoon later in the tenth month of our stay—when the leaves were burning to crisps, dying, breathing their last breaths and collapsing to the earth to restart the year’s cycle.  
“Whatcha got there, girl?”  
Girl. His nickname of choice for me, it seemed.  
“Little House on the Prairie.”  
“Won’t that a TV show?”  
“Based on the classic book series, yeah.”  
“Ain’t never read ’em.”  
“C’mere,” patting the concrete, I say, “I’ll read some to you.”  
“Start at the beginnin’,” he consents. Easing down next to me, settling into a comfortable position as if he’s gonna be there for a while. “Or I won’t have a lick of an idea what’s happenin’.”  
So I do. I clear my throat, I do the voices, I explain when need be. He listens rather intently all throughout the first several chapters until the light has seeped from the sky and we’re reading by a candle the size of my thumb.  
“They’re gonna survive,” he says once I’ve shut the book and curfew has been announced. “Just know they will.”  
I smile. The warmth of my cheeks spreads down to my neck, up to my forehead and across my nose. Sitting near him so long as made me tingly, anxious in my own skin, and downright overheated.  
“Have to wait and see.”  
He comes back the next day, and the next. We make it an appointment. Then we make deals—I’ll read three chapters and he’ll teach me how to skin a deer. Or I’ll read from the moment supper’s over till curfew and he’ll allow me to ride his motorcycle a little ways.  
We’ve reached the later books, the teenage years, when I realize that we no longer sit with inches between us but mere centimeters. His chin rests on his arm, which sits on his propped knee, which bumps mine over and over and over. His scent swallows me in a cloud and his warmth, just as before, that all-encompassing bonfire heat, swells and coats me, a blanket.  
“Almanzo sounds like a good dude,” he comments.  
“He is.”  
“He and Laura’re gonna be alright, I can tell.”  
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I grin and tip my head back, feeling my ponytail swish swish between my shoulder blades.  
He snorts, “It’s kinda a predictable book.”  
“Yeah. But it’s a comfort. At least to me it is. Knowing that you can go through all these trials, all these separate, hard journeys in life and still be happy.”  
Daryl smirks up at the moon, as if they share secrets.  
“Guess so.”  
“Do you want me to finish the chapter?”  
“Naw.” Suddenly, his knee stops bumping my leg and simply leans against it. His arm aligns with mine, our hands pressed into the wood behind us, keeping our bodies upright. His breath graces my lips and his mouth—so, so warm and so sweet and tangy and dry yet soft—captures mine and I curve into him naturally. Natural, we are. Natural, the zap! of longing between us has always been. “Let’s do somethin’ else for a while,” he finishes, and his voice is scratchier and unsure, his lean limbs ten times more awkward than seconds prior.  
He’s so new at this; for once, I’m not the amateur.  
“C’mere, rookie,” I tease, tugging him and his lips back to me. “Lemme show you how Almanzo Wilder did it.”


End file.
